Moving On
by ChocolateIsMyDrug
Summary: From 'North & South'. A series-based look at John and Margaret's reunion.


**A/N:** I wrote this at about one am, so I'm not sure how coherent it is – but anyway, tell me what you think, and I hope you enjoy!

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**Moving On**

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He should have known it sooner, should have recognised the signs. Her absurd attachment to that dirty industrial town, a lingering sadness he had sensed in her even several months after the death of her father, her quiet, but unshakable determination to place all her trust and fortune into the hands of that failed manufacturer. Perhaps in his heart of hearts he had known even then, but had simply refused to accept it. He had waited so long and so patiently for her that he had convinced himself that if he kept at it, she would soon return his affection.

A journey north to communicate her business proposal to the man in person had still failed to alert him to the futility of his designs – it was an unorthodox step, to be sure, but then Margaret had never been one for following convention. When she had returned from the mill-house dejectedly to tell him that the man was not home and not expected soon and that they had better return to London, he had trouble concealing his satisfaction at such an outcome. It would be best, he thought, if from now on all business dealings be contracted through correspondence.

His plans had been thwarted by a chance meeting at a Midlands train station, and as he watched through the carriage window, for the first time he was fully sensible of the threat as he saw her nervous, blushing agitation and the tears she blinked back and the smiles which brightened her eyes. For a moment she glanced in his direction and seemed to start towards him, but then Thornton's hand on her arm stopped her. He shifted in his seat, on edge, watching as Margaret allowed herself to be led to the nearest bench.

He could not hear what was said, but he knew all too well what was passing between them as Thornton covered one of her small hands with his. He closed his eyes for a moment. He should have known – he should have realised. Then he opened his eyes once more, and he could not draw them away. Thornton was slowly leaning towards her, one hand gently caressing her temple.

This was when he truly lost all hope. He knew Margaret – he knew and respected her assertiveness and he knew that if Margaret did not want this, she would have turned away. She did not turn away; instead – _oh God_ – she leaned instinctively closer. Their lips met and he let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. For a moment he watched them, but then he looked away. Margaret had not pushed Thornton away; he knew exactly how things stood now.

Margaret was lost to him forever; he knew that now. He had been her friend for a long time now, and for a moment a bitterness seized him that he could be nothing more to her. But in a split second he had made his decision; he would continue to be her friend. If he could not be happy for her now, he could try to be so in the future; he _would _try. He would not pain her by a change in his behaviour towards her and he would not cause her discomfort by revealing to her again what she was to him. He would rather have her friendship than the love of any woman on earth.

Taking a deep breath, he gathered together her things, packing her coat and the book of sonnets she had been reading into her carpet-bag. He stood at the entrance of the carriage with her bag, ready, determined not to reveal the emotions raging within him. She approached the carriage with a purposeful step, and as he saw the glow that suffused her face from the flush in her cheeks to the light in her eyes, for a moment he forgot how to breathe.

Before she could say anything, he held out the bag to her, and mustered up all his resolve. 'I wish you well, Margaret,' he said.

He could read first relief and then understanding and then gratitude in her face and as she took the bag from him, she gave him a small smile. 'Thank you,' was all she said, but they both knew that they understood one another.

As she left he turned away and sat again in his carriage, the lonely journey to London stretching out before him. Then he happened to look up and see her hat in the luggage rack. Standing hurriedly, he picked it up and turned, intending to return it to her, but then he set it down on the seat she had vacated with a sigh. It was too late to return it to her; she had moved on.

And as the train began to follow her example and start out of the station, he opened his newspaper again, eyes not truly taking in the print, but deliberately avoiding the hat. She had moved on, leaving the relics of her past life behind her – and it was time he did too.

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End file.
